Of Maglor and Arwen
by Anxia
Summary: My take on the final fate of Maglor son of Feanor.
1. Notes

---Of Maglor and Arwen---  
  
I can't say I'm quite sure what spawned this story; I always felt horrible about Arwen and Maglor's final fates, being left behind upon Middle-Earth and never seeing Valinor - in Maglor's case, never seeing Valinor again. I always had a soft spot for Maglor, and I had just come to really appreciate Arwen, so I decided...well, why not? Arwen did leave Gondor shortly before her death, and while it was never stated, it's not entirely impossible for her to have met Maglor before going to Lothlorien and passing away. Obviously, it would be best if you had read the Silmarillion before you read this; then again, considering that this is in the Silmarillion section, you probably already have. Furthermore, to understand Arwen's part of the story, you should really read "Of Aragorn and Arwen", which can be found in Appendix A of Return of the King. If you haven't, and really don't want to, here's all you need to know; Arwen and Aragorn became the Queen and King of Gondor, lived happy lives, and after Aragorn's death, Arwen left Gondor (alone, mind you) and eventually ended up at Lothlorien, where she died. According to the Silmarillion, Maglor never left Middle-earth, but instead stayed, singing upon the shores but never leaving or killing himself, such as Maedhros did.  
  
As for the subject matter of this story; yes, it is romance. Maglor falls in love with Arwen. I am aware that according to the HoME, Maglor had a wife, but there's no mention of that in the Silmarillion, and since they had no children (which was very unusual for married elves, mind you), I decided to cut her out. And, yes, I know about Aragorn - hell, who doesn't? [Before you Aragorn x Arwen fans flame me, please keep in mind that I'm an Aragorn x Arwen fan, and there's no way I could just throw away their romance.] If you really want to understand the nature of Maglor and Arwen's relationship, you'll just have to read the story. And about Maglor and Arwen being kin; well, that they are, just like Aragorn and Arwen were. Arwen is a descendent of the line of Fingolfin, Maglor's half-uncle, and she's also a descendant of Finarfin, for that matter. [Elrond's father was of the line of Fingolfin, and Celebrian, Elrond's wife, was the daughter of Galadriel, who was the daughter of Finarfin.] However, this wouldn't be an issue in the Tolkien world - Arwen and Aragorn had some distant relation, as did Elrond and Celebrian. Marrying kin was only an issue if the kinship was a close relation, like a cousin [not a half-cousin, as the children of Feanor and Fingolfin were] or a sibling. There's also a closer bond between Maglor and Arwen - Maglor was foster-father to her father Elrond. However, that is not a blood relation, seeing as how Maglor is not actually Elrond's father.  
  
This story was written by me, Anxia, in April of 2003. It was inspired by the less-than-spiffy fates of Maglor and Arwen, and depression. Oh, and I can't forget Daeron and Luthien, either. (Big inspiration, those two.) Thank you for reading, and I really hope you enjoy this story. 


	2. Introduction

Ancient was Maglor son of Feanor, bitter and full of sorrow in his old age, having ever dwelt in darkness after forsaking the Silmaril that he stole from the hands that would deliver them into the hands of those who were perceived their rightful bearers. However, his treachery was not in vain, for the jewel that he claimed as his own was in its true and rightful place, shining in the endless waters of the seas of Ulmo. But now he would linger on ever in gloom unending, and suffer the most terrible of fates for the Elder Children of Illuvator. Now would Maglor dwell ever in pain and grief, being punished for the deeds he committed so long ago, reflecting upon days of old and joys that there had been, and for him, would never be again.  
  
Beautiful was Arwen daughter of Elrond Halfelven, the last-born of all the Eldar, and all of Arda wept when she chose to suffer a mortal fate. For upon her and her brothers fell the choice of the Half-Elven; and while her brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, chose to sail into the Undying Realms and take in the bliss of Valinor, Arwen chose to remain in Middle-Earth with her love, Aragorn of the Dunedain. The fate of Luthien was to be hers, both the sweet and the bitter, and this was a choice that Arwen would come to rue. For she loved Aragorn, but as she dwelt upon Middle-Earth, she was filled with the sea-longing that came to all of her kin, but the way to Valinor was closed to her for ever. After the death of her beloved, she could no longer dwell in The White City, everything reminding her of the love she had lost, and her own impending doom - so she fled, haunted by grief, sorrow, and doom.  
  
And they were the last of the Elves who dwelt upon Middle-Earth, a once proud and powerful race, now diminished to a mere whisper. They were the last, left behind due to ill choices and strange fates. They were the last, and perhaps they could find comfort in one another - but one thought the others' existence only a myth, and the other was not aware of their companion in sorrow at all.  
  
But, soon they would be - for their final fates were tied together, and the last of those who wandered would soon discover that they were not as utterly alone as they first thought. 


	3. Of Meetings

---Of Maglor and Arwen - Of Meetings---  
  
He sang a song.  
  
It seemed that he had been signing for a very long time; ever a song of sorrow, of loss, of pain.  
  
Ever he wandered along the shores of the sea - oftentimes it was calm, without a ripple in its waters. Other times, it was angry and restless, destroying everything that touched its surface. And sometimes, there would be ships. Ships, that even the most violent of storms would make way for.  
  
He sang a song; of sorrow, of lost, of pain, and regret.  
  
He was Maglor, son of Feanor - the son of a madman, ever bending to his father's will. And for this, he was punished, doomed to wander the shores of Middle-earth, ever watching the sea but never crossing it. This would be the punishment to fall upon all his kin, but his all kin had perished; thus, it was his lot to bear.  
  
Slowly but surely, he fell into obscurity; his name became legend, his deeds became myth. And all the while, he sang, ever pining for the light.  
  
But one day, someone sang back.  
  
It was soft at first, even to his keen ears; he assumed he imagined it, and thought nothing more of it. It steadily grew louder, and it sounded familiar; not in voice, but in tone, for the grief and despair in that voice was great enough to match his own. And he wondered at this, for what cursed being could have sorrow as great as his own?  
  
And then, she stepped forth; at first, he saw only saw a little; a flash of pale flesh covered by a raven tress, a dark eye filled with unshed tears. And then her beauty was seen by Maglor in its entirety, and he was nearly moved to tears himself. For it seemed to him that the daughter of Thingol and Melian, the most beautiful child of Man and Elves, was standing before him; the elf maiden who did what armies of thousands could not, whose passing all of Arda mourned. And now she was plagued by sadness, a veil of gloom cast over her beautiful face. And suddenly, Maglor longed to make her smile; to dispel her sorrow if only for a moment, to see the very light of Laurelin embodied in her smile, a smile that he had not the pleasure to behold, but was surely fair.  
  
But alas, unless she took joy and found humor in his idiocy, that would be an impossible task; for he was struck dumb before her, unable to speak or move, surely as Beren Erchamion had all those years before.  
  
He felt her keen eyes upon him, staring at him in confusion and wonder; which was rather strange, for surely; all that came across her were taken with her from first sight?  
  
"Tinuviel, Tinuviel!" Maglor managed to cry, unable to think of anything else to say to the lovely creature before him, or a name of his own devising. Beren himself had screamed those words to her upon first seeing her, they said, and she had been taken with him from that moment on. However, he was not Beren Erchamion - something that most Eldar would rejoice in, for a mortal fate was an awful thing, but now he envied the ill- fated man, who was able to hold in his arms all of the beauty of Arda embodied. Then she laughed, but it was not how Maglor imagined it - it was a harsh and bitter sound, devoid of all joy or merriment.  
  
"I have been called that name before," she said, "But I am afraid I am not the one whom you seek. For Luthien Tinuviel has long ago passed, and I am all that remains of her kin upon this earth."  
  
'Of her kin', he wondered. Surely, she was an elvish child (but there was a mortal hardness to her features, and her eyes seemed to glow with the light of the Maia - she was truly of the line of Beren and Luthien); if so, then she had no place on Middle-earth. 'Of her kin' - perhaps she was nothing more than an illusion, a haunting glimpse of all that he had left behind, for it had been said that Luthien was the very embodiment of light. Or maybe she was a child of Elwing, perhaps, if she was of the bloodline of Luthien; or, a child of his foster-sons, Elrond and Elros?  
  
"...Now tell me," she said after a short silence, her tone wary, "Who are you - and if you are of elvish blood, then why do you still reside in Middle-earth?"  
  
"If...if you are indeed of the bloodline of Luthien," He managed to say, his voice wavering, "Then...then I would be your kinsman." For, if she was a direct descendent, she would have some Noldorian blood in her veins - she was not only a descendent of Luthien, but of Fingolfin his uncle as well, for the two bloodlines had long ago mingled. "And...I am a son of Feanor, nephew of your forefather Fingolfin, a cursed kindred, unaccepted among the elven kind. Therefore, I linger yet." His voice was now breathless; it had been a great labor to say only those few words, so stunning was this creature. (So stunning was she, that he was blinded and stupefied by her; for he his family was a hated and condemned kindred, and as his father would say, it took a special sort of stupidity to discuss things that were better left unsaid.)  
  
Suddenly, the elf-maiden's expression changed; no longer one of suspicion, but of relief. (Which was rather strange - the last time he had been among his own kind, they had only expressed relief once he had left them.) "Then...then we are the same, son of Feanor; the last elves to linger upon Middle-earth. I am Arwen Undomiel, daughter of Elrond Half-elven, and the reason that I linger is that the Doom of Luthien is soon to be my own."  
  
And, for the first time in ages, Maglor knew a glimmer of joy; for when Arwen spoke those words, she had smiled.  
  
She had smiled, and in that instant, Maglor thought her more beautiful than anything he had seen, more beautiful than anything he could have imagined, more beautiful than Luthien Tinuviel herself. 


	4. Of Comfort

---Of Maglor and Arwen - Of Comfort---  
  
They stood for a while in silence, beholding one another but unable to believe their meeting. (For meeting one another was a great joy for them both, who had spent a long while believing that they were truly alone, and to discover that you were not, but to find someone who understands shares your pain as well is nothing short of a blessing.)  
  
"And you..." Arwen said, stepping forth to stand closer to her kinsman, "You would be Maglor, the second son of Feanor and the only one still living. Who forsook the Silmaril stolen from the herald of the Valar, who was said to be the only sane member of the line of Feanor, who...who..." she trailed off, then gingerly raised a hand to touch him, as if not believing he was real.  
  
"...You know of me." Maglor said after a moment of silence, shorter than the last, tensing as Arwen's fingers trailed over his body, not in any way used to physical contact after dwelling in solitude for so long; however, her skin only grazed his for a brief moment, and it seemed that as soon as the touch began, it was over.  
  
"Does this come as a shock, son of Feanor?" She smiled again, and it was not like the other; this one had a certain grief to it, and seemed rather pitying. "Nay, the deeds of your kin are legendary, and not easily forgotten. But concerning your fate - it is widely believed that both you and your brother perished, by throwing yourself into the earth and sea. However.however, my father always spoke differently."  
  
"Your father." Maglor replied, a sad note in his voice. "...Elrond, son of Earendil." He had loved his foster sons; Elrond, and his brother Elros, the nearest thing he had to a family ever since the death of his father, when his own had fallen apart. He had clung to Maedhros after they began to rage war upon Morgoth, but had rarely interacted with his other brothers; or, if he had, it was not without the oldest of Feanor's sons by his side. Still, the bond that he and Maedhros shared was unspoken; while they cared for one another, affection was rarely expressed aloud. With the Half-elven, it had been different; they shared and expressed emotions easily and readily, and soon forged a deep bond after meeting. (Ironic, learning to love the one who tore you from your home and your mother's arms. Then again, neither Elrond nor Elros had ever been very fond of their mother.) He had missed them, Elrond and Elros - almost more than the light, but not quite. (Which was a bitter and ironic fact, seeing as how in the end, he forsook them for the light.)  
  
"He spoke fondly of you." Arwen said after a while, leaving Maglor to his thoughts. "Not often, for Feanor and his sons were not looked kindly upon in Imladris - or any other elven kingdom, for that matter - but whenever he could, or whenever I or my brothers would ask, he would tell us of the one who fostered him and his brother when no one else would."  
  
"If he spoke fondly of me, I did not deserve it," Maglor muttered in reply. "Did he not tell you of how the tale ended; how I abandoned him and his brother to embark on a fool's quest; to claim something that could never be mine?"  
  
"...He saw only the best in you, I suppose." Arwen said, after considering his words. "For he never told us the ending of the tale, but only the beginning."  
  
"...For his praise, I am glad." He still assumed that Elrond and Elros were still bitter at his betrayal; for he was held to his oath, and recovering the Silmarils would come before all else.  
  
"He still misses you - or, I suppose he misses you, for I have not spoken to him in quite a while." Arwen's words were laced with bitterness, and Maglor felt a surge of anger at that. For a moment, he wondered who Arwen sacrificed herself for, and why her love allowed that - for surely, so beautiful and delicate a creature could not be allowed to waste away like mortal men.  
  
"I am afraid we share the same plight, Arwen Undomiel - for I am not seen any of my kin in thousands upon thousands of years."  
  
"...I suppose I am being selfish." Arwen now looked guilty, avoiding Maglor's gaze. "For surely, I have been without my family for time that is but a blink of the eye for one of the Eldar, and have been without by beloved for time that is but a breath."  
  
"You need not feel guilt. For now that you have sundered yourself from the Eldar, I would imagine that the flow and passage of time feels much different to you now."  
  
"...In a way, it does." Arwen said, after pondering his words. "However, the sundering of fates nothing more than what it implies; for elves perish with Arda, while men are independent of it and die alone. However, after choosing to live as a mortal, it is only natural that some aspects of an Elda should change." She paused again, and then looked at Maglor thoughtfully. "Even if it had, however, you have still spent far, far longer in isolation than I ever will."  
  
"...You also need not pity me, Arwen Undomiel. This is my punishment for the deeds I have committed - for tell me, surely only a monster would slay his own kin?" He had sounded angrier than he had intended, and Arwen looked taken aback.  
  
"I...I am sorry if I offended you, Maglor son of Feanor. I...I did not know that..."  
  
"Do not be sorry," Maglor said. "I was quick to offend, and you were not aware." He could almost hear his father cursing him from the Halls of Mandos; for being too gentle with the maiden, for being bewitched by her beauty, for ruing his fate when he was the last of the Sons of Feanor still alive. "In fact, if you asked me, I would not know why I was so offended in the first place."  
  
Arwen smiled again at that, but it was a wavering and meek thing, and it held not the beauty of the other. And, he wondered; for whom did you smile, Arwen Undomiel?  
  
Perhaps his father was right. He was too taken with his maiden, beautiful as she was; while she was a stunning sight, she was only a sight that he had beheld for no more than a few minutes. Furthermore, she was not a trophy to be possessed, and she had already had a love, a love that she cherished more than life itself. Any feelings he would develop for her would be wasted, and would only result in more pain to bear.  
  
He could not bring himself to take his leave of her, however; she was enchanting and fair beyond all belief, but there was a frailty about her, and Maglor has a sudden desire to care for her, to protect her from any further sorrow that might come to plague her.  
  
(Surely, no harm could come from that.)  
  
"...And tell me," he spoke, after the awkward moment had passed. "What has become of your father now? Surely, he has gone - long ago, I suppose?" At Arwen's confused expression, he said, "News does not come to me here, Arwen Undomiel, but I watch; elven-ships are a rare sight to see upon the waters, but as of late they have been launched in great numbers. And now, they sail no longer. And then, after the last ship had set sail, my heart began to ache all the harder, and I perceived that the time of the elves upon Middle- earth was over."  
  
"...You do not belong here." Arwen said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes were full of sorrow, but not her own; sorrow and pity, directed towards him, who in her mind, suffered a fate far worse than hers. "Tell me - why...why have you not..."  
  
"Why I have not wasted away from grief - why I have not yet passed to Mandos?" Maglor smiled - however, it was a warped gesture, beautiful but marred by many years of grief and pain. "I am plagued with too much guilt to live among other children of Illuvator, but filled with too much cowardice to take my own life, or to die willingly."  
  
"So you would suffer a fate worse than my own," she said - Maglor imagined her as a healer in her youth, a gentle maid, one who longed to heal the wounds of any and all. However, the hands of a healer were no longer hers, he supposed - for one that had no hope for themselves had no hope to give others. However, perhaps this healing instinct had not passed her by yet, for the compassion in her eyes, the desire to comfort and protect, was not unlike his own.  
  
"It would seem that we both suffer the curse of a Strange Fate, Undomiel. However...however, perhaps we can find comfort in one another." Once the words had came out of his mouth, Maglor could not believe that he had spoken them aloud - how could he be such a fool, to express his desire to grow close to this beautiful creature? For surely, she saw him as nothing more but a reminder of days of old, of her childhood and what she had left behind.  
  
Then he was forced to stop his train of thought, for Arwen was smiling; a smile almost devoid of any sadness. A smile for that was for him. Maglor felt his knees grow weak, and he found himself without words once again; but he needed not to say anything, for Arwen stepped forward and gently taking his hand in hers.  
  
"...Comfort," she said slowly. "Comfort. I...I think I would like that, Maglor son of Feanor."  
  
Far too taken, far too taken; but it did not matter. For the hearts of elves were not as the hearts of men, and beauty alone would not enchant him to the point of love everlasting. And while being with her might bring him pain, surely the pain of having companionship taken away would be much, much greater?  
  
Yes, Maglor decided, yes; he would spend as much time with her as he could; until she grew weary of the shore, or until she passed away - whichever event would come to pass first.  
  
(For there was no harm in seeking companionship, after it had been denied for so long.) 


	5. Of Love

---Of Maglor and Arwen - Of Love---  
  
After that, they spoke of light matters; or rather, attempted to, for neither were well versed in joyful tales. At Arwen's inquiry, Maglor reached out to take her by the arm; but before his hand settled upon her arm, he seemed to reconsider, and flinched away, instead choosing to lead her to the water instead of escorting her, and stood back as she placed her hand within the sea.  
  
"Nay, it brings no physical pain, Undomiel; for while we are not permitted to cross it, we are allowed to dwell as close to the sea as we wish. Only if those who are barred from Valinor attempt to travel to it is physical pain inflicted; and even then, it is only if you still press on after being turned aside.  
  
"For even though we have traveled away from the paths that were set for us by Illuvator and the Valar, the only punishment we receive is sorrow, and even then, we bring that upon our selves."  
  
Arwen did not reply at first, nor did she turn her head to peer at Maglor; instead, her gaze was locked on the sea.  
  
"Would you believe, Maglor son of Feanor", she said after a while, "That this is my first time bearing witness to the sea?"  
  
Maglor stood silent, not quite knowing how to respond, and after a silence, it was Arwen who spoke again. "How...how ironic! For I was told, long ago, that the first sight of the sea was a joyous time for any elf, and that the final journey over the sea was nothing to fear. And now...and now, as I look upon a sea which is not blue but gray, a way that is not opened but closed...I now see that those words were nothing but a lie." Now she looked at him, a bitter smile upon her face, and placed her hand upon his cheek  
  
Maglor jerked at the sensation, a strangled gasp emitting from his lips. It had been millennia since the skin of another touched his own, and it was a sensation that he had long ago forgotten.  
  
Arwen's hand slipped from his cheek and her arm dropped to her side, but she spoke no apology. Instead, she remained silent, and her eyes had a far away look to them, as if she was dreaming. When she spoke again, it seemed that it was not to Maglor, but rather to herself.  
  
"My mother spoke those words to me." she said, a tone indefinable to Maglor in her voice. "Perhaps not too long ago in Elvish reckoning, but now it seems as if those words date back to the Time of the Trees. Marred beyond repair, she would leave her husband and children behind. She promised that we would meet again - but Celebrian was unwitting of what strange fate would come to pass. Can she feel the passing of her daughter now - can she feel her progeny, her flesh and blood, fall into darkness and shadow - into obscurity and death? Or has she born a new child, a Star of Morn, and has chosen to leave the evening behind?"  
  
Comfort, he promised her - tentatively, as if reaching out to stroke a raging beast, Maglor placed a trembling hand upon her shoulder. Starting at the touch, Arwen seemed to come to her senses; then peered again at her companion, a look of guilt upon her fair face.  
  
"And tell me...Maglor, son of Feanor...did you ever have a mother?" A ghost of a smile graced Maglor's face, but he turned away from his companion.  
  
"Aye, I did." She was not of the most graceful step or the most fair of face, but her father had loved her above all else.  
  
"And...and what has become of her?"  
  
"I would imagine she dwells now with her kin, in the Halls of Aule." It was said that the downfall of their marriage could be chronicled by the naming of their sons. After time after the births of Maedhros and Maglor was said to be the noontide of their marriage; as passionate as ever, and to almost all Aman, they were the perfect example of marriage among the Eldar.  
  
"She-she is of the maia?" Maglor chuckled at that.  
  
"Nay, nay - she is among the blacksmiths that dwell with Aule, and those that were numbered among his folk after the rebellion of the Noldor." With the births of Celegorm and Curufin, tension began to arise in the House of Feanor. It began simply as minor disagreements between them; perhaps something unusual in a marriage such as Feanor's and Nerdanel's, but nothing unheard of along the Eldar.  
  
"So...it has been ages since you have last lain eyes upon her." It has been said that Caranthir was his mother's child, taking after her in appearance; and at that birth, it was Nerdanel who first held him in her arms, not Feanor, and Caranthir's first word had been mama, not papa. (To Maglor, it seemed that Feanor never did forgive Caranthir for that.)  
  
"Indeed, it has." It was then that the passion began to wane, and the love to fade; and while they both had experienced a rebirth with the birth of Ambarussa, their separation did not come as any particular shock, despite it being the first of its kind.  
  
"Was...was Nerdanel her name?" Maglor only nodded.  
  
"Feanor and Nerdanel..." Arwen said thoughtfully, as if recalling a tale told long ago. "They...separated, did they not?"  
  
"They did." Of course, it had been with Feanor that the children remained; they saw very little of Nerdanel after that, and as time wore on and tensions between the Children of Finwe grew greater, it became as if they had no mother at all; as if the Sons of Feanor shared their father's fate.  
  
"...His name was Aragorn." Her voice had lost the inquiring tone it once had; now, it sounded cold, almost empty. "He was of the Edain - of mortal folk. And I...I was not of elven blood, but a Peredhil. However, it was not a union my father or any other of my kin would ever grow to approve of. To my family, I was of the Eldar. If there were any Peredhil in my family, they were my brothers.  
  
"But never the less, he loved me, and I loved him; thus, our troth was plighted, and we married." She paused for a moment, and then continued on. "He was not just any mortal man. Nay, although he lived as a ranger and wanderer for countless years in the time of mortals, he was King of Gondor; the lord of the most powerful kingdom upon this earth. He was also of the Numenor - both the blood of Man and Elf flowed within his veins - and therefore a lifespan thrice that of mortal men was upon him bestowed.  
  
"I was his Queen. And for what for mortal folk would perceive as an endless age, we ruled together for 120 years. I.I bore him children. One son, and seven lovely daughters, fairest of maidens." Arwen paused suddenly, then laughed darkly. "Seven sons, seven daughters. Perhaps your mother and I are not so different. Perhaps...perhaps, if she were to bear another child, it would be not a son but a daughter. Perhaps is was my husband's children that I bore, and none of my own."  
  
"He was of elvish descent," She began again, "And yet he was a Man. He was a Man, and therefore he is no longer here; and now see the words my father spoke me so long ago, when word first came to him of my choice, were true." Her eyes turned to Maglor again, and she smiled sadly.  
  
"Your mother left your father. My husband, when he fell, gave me the chance to leave myself; but then it was too late, far too late, and had it not been...I still would have remained. I would not leave his side, even now, when his body grows cold and his fea beyond the walls of the world.  
  
"...I would say, Maglor son of Feanor, that your mother - who broke her bond with her husband and lord, who left her children not once but twice...I would say that your mother was wise. And I - I, who was hailed as the Queen of Men and Elves, the Evenstar of the Eldar - I am not, nor will I ever be."  
  
Then she turned away from him, and he from her, and both looked out to the sea - empty, gray, and endless. 


End file.
